The Release
by Truaeliixander
Summary: The phantoms have been released from their prison in the End. After escaping into the Overworld, the creatures attempt to complete their directive, with mixed results. Initially blamed for their release, Herobrine, along with a few others, attempt to curb the crisis before it gets too out of hand. There's also the matter of tracking down their creator, Phos, the false god...


_Prologue_

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**A/N: It's... been some time since I've dared think to write or hell, post on here - years, in fact - but my love for this game has yet to die. Thus, we have this story. It's more of an exercise in writing a story again than anything, so it probably won't be more than 15 or so chapters. Hopefully that's sufficient until I think of something longer or have the confidence to rewrite my older works.**

**Before we begin, I just need to address two things, so bear with me. One, there are things that exist in the specific world I write in that occasionally may require additional explanation. To help with that, there will be a little lore segment at the end of most chapters. I don't plan to tack on author's notes at the beginning after this. Two, not every OC in this story will belong to me. Some, like Cerelia, belong to my friend, Marvin (who doesn't have an account on here as far as I know). He and I have constructed this little world together, so it's only fitting that you see his characters as well as my own.**

**Now that all of that is out of the way, I'll let you get on with the story...**

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"Be careful with that!" Nightshade hisses, pressing himself closely against the ladder to avoid the bucket swinging from the crook of Cerelia's arm. He's not at all in the mood to be covered in rotting flesh, nor would he like to break his spine falling off this ladder.

"Relax, Shade, I've got this." Cerelia continues her climb, though Nightshade slows his pace up the ladder after her. He really, really doesn't want to get hit in the head with that bucket. Regardless of what it contains, head injuries aren't on his to-do list. Neither was phantom-feeding duty, to be fair, but he couldn't exactly refuse the task.

Cerelia makes it to the top of the tower and sets the bucket down for a moment, glancing back at where Nightshade is still a few rungs down.

"Go on, I'll only be a moment," he mutters, shaking his head. Cerelia shrugs, picking up the bucket and approaching the hole. It's situated in the middle of the tower, with iron bars covering the opening to make sure the inhabitants in the cage below don't escape.

She sets her foot on the grate, or at least where the grate _should_ be. Her leg goes right into the hole instead, and she yelps, bracing herself against the edge in a panic. She drops the bucket as well, spilling a pile of slimy flesh down into the depths of the cage below. It makes an ugly plopping sound as it hits the bottom, a sound she would normally be fine with. Except for once, it's not accompanied by the hungry hissing and screeching that she's gotten accustomed to. In fact, from what she's able to tell, there's no activity down in the cage at all.

Nightshade grabs her arms, pulling her the rest of the way out of the hole. He also picks up the bucket and moves it away from the edge of the opening, glancing down into it as he does. Cerelia isn't sure what to make of his expression, watching as Nightshade bites his lip, confusion flickering across his features. He twists the stick they were given for prodding any of the meat that didn't make it through the grate in his hands, looking mildly anxious.

"... Cerelia, where are the phantoms?" He glances over at her then, hoping against his common sense that she somehow has an answer.

Cerelia doesn't say anything at first, trying to think of some reason that the creatures could have gone missing. She leans over the edge of the hole where the grate should be again, peering down inside. The cage isn't terribly well-lit, the faint light from the sky above barely enough for her to see the bottom where all the rotten flesh sits. Nightshade kneels down beside her, flicking his wrist to conjure a small glowing flame. The flame is a soft lavender, much like his eyes. He casts it down into the darkness, illuminating the area below.

Like their previous observations have already confirmed, it's empty. Though completely devoid of its former flesh-biting captives, the cage shows no openings aside from the one they're looking through. Upon further inspection, Nightshade notices the grate on the floor. It's intact, despite clearly having been pried out of the obsidian surface of the tower.

He finds himself wondering who would do such a thing. They were keeping the phantoms locked up here for a reason, weren't they? For gods' sakes, the damned things eat _rotten flesh_ for dinner. They'll bite you the first chance they get - hence why he was given the stick. If you put your hands on the grate, they could bite your fingers off! What kind of crazy person would even consider that freeing them is a good idea? Why would you even _want _to free them? They're a nuisance, and honestly, he's not quite sure why they kept the things around. He'd heard the story of their creation, sure. All Children of the End had. They're probably better informed than the people of the Overworld are in regards to what their gods get up to, in fact.

"What do we do?" Cerelia puts her hand on his shoulder.

"... I'm not sure," Nightshade admits. Really, he has no idea. They never received instructions on what they were to do should something like this happen. Goodness, it's already happened and no one knew about it until now. _How long have the phantoms been gone?_

He decides not to dwell on the question. They need to do something about this - no telling what the phantoms could get up to if they're loose. Well, hell, they _are _loose. Did they go to the Overworld? It's the only logical conclusion, since they're obviously not here, and there's been no other disruptions to their activities.

If he remembers right, phantoms have no way of properly gauging the daycycle of the End, unlike the way they can in the Overworld. Of course, this is because one doesn't appear to exist here like it does there. There is no sun, there is no moon. They keep time through the shifting of the star-speckled sky - a job that primarily falls upon the Timekeeper.

Not as social and even less amicable than the Archivist, the Timekeeper is rarely seen. He knows very little about them, the most information he has resting on the title and job itself. Knowledge of the Timekeeper as a person is practically non-existent, reserved perhaps for others like them.

Cerelia stands, looking uncertain as she glances back down into the hole. Nightshade sighs, closing his hand to snuff out the flame they'd been using as a light. This isn't good.

"... Should we try to find Ender?" Cerelia asks after a moment, breaking the silence.

"We'd probably have an easier time getting to Morrigan," Nightshade replies. He gets to his feet and starts toward the ladder, gesturing for her to follow.

"What should we do with…" she starts, glancing at the discarded bucket and stick.

"Leave it, come on." Nightshade lowers himself down a few rungs, glaring up at her. "We can deal with that later - I do _not _want to get beaned with the bucket of rotten flesh."

Cerelia rolls her eyes. "Glad to see the situation hasn't affected your apparent fear of falling, Shade."

Nightshade snorts, shaking his head. "Let's just go. No telling what mess these things have gotten into already…"

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**A/N: And there we have it, the start of something I will _hopefully_ finish.**

**There isn't too much for me to say now - and as said before, will keep author's notes to the end of chapters going forth. Don't like to interrupt the flow of things. Regardless, I hope you've enjoyed your taste of this so far. The first 'official' chapter should be up later tonight or by tomorrow! **

**Please let me know what you think! I may not reply to every review directly, but I most certainly promise you that I'll read them! I really, sincerely hope to consistently do this again.**


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